


Faith

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gannicus is dead in this guys, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of a failed rebellion and Gannicus' sacrifice, Sibyl is a woman without a purpose. Nasir, Agron, and even Laeta find their lives, and she's left searching. </p><p>So Sibyl adopts Gannicus' illegitimate children, basically. It's a bit of a journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever stop writing spartacus fic? NO. This is a fic I started ages and ages ago and finally finished. As always, it ended up being longer than anticipated. And it's my first time writing an OC into a fic but that was kind of necessary for the plot.

She thought it would fade, after a few years. The ache, the grief that tore at her every time she went to bed and he was not there. Her bed was cold. Without Gannicus the world seemed dull, and wine tasted too much like goodbyes.

Yet life went on, even without him.

She left Agron and Nasir near the borders of Germania. They had their own life to create, one she did not belong in. Laeta wandered with her for a time, until the child growing within her demanded a more sedate lifestyle. Sibyl had left her in a small trading town, smiling as she carried her child with her on the way to market. Laeta had found a new life, but it was time for Sibyl to move on. It was not the place for her.

Instead he drifted, going from town to village, bandaging wounds and mixing herbs to earn her keep among the villages. There was always work for someone who could heal the day-to-day injuries. Slowly she made her way through the wilds yet unconquered by Rome, until the statues she saw were of her gods. Home, ravaged but still standing. She could sleep beneath the alter of her idol and spend her time praying.

Peace still eluded her.

Her days were filled with missing him, her nights were filled with dreams. Her inner certainly, the hope he had given her when the rebels took her city, lay shattered before her.

So she prayed. And through endless nights and days of beseeching the gods an answer came to her. _Seek them not in their idols, but in the world. Find the Gods as you did Gannicus._

The next day she packed her meager belongings, bid goodbye to the villagers, and set out for Capua.

\- - 

She had not seen much of Rome beyond Sinuessa, and Gannicus had told her little of the city in which he had spent much of his life. It was dusty and dry, enough so that even with a veil cloaking her the air made her want to cough. The sun beat down, as masters and slaves alike toiled under the hot sun.

She had covered the tell-tale marks of slavery before entering the city, but she checked them surreptitiously before approaching a trader. “There was a man who lived in this city, before-“

“Disappear from sight!” He shoved her aside.

“Please,” She ran along behind him. “A gladiator, blond of hair, Gannicus-“

He turned, hand raised, and she braced herself for a blow. Instead, a voice behind them said “Gannicus? He is dead. What do you seek of him?”

She turned and said, “He was a champion of the arena.” The new man was clearly Roman, with dark hair and fine linen clothes. She kept her voice carefully neutral. “Do you know of him?”

“Mind your tongue, girl,” The trader hissed, but the Roman paid him no heed.

“Champion? He stood a _god._ The only man to win his freedom in Capua’s arena. He turned against the republic, though, maddened by a thirst for blood. They crucified him with the other rebel slaves.”

She felt a thrill of fear run through her at his words. _Crucified. As they would gladly do to me if they knew._ She checked the covering of her scars again, pulled the veil closer around her face. 

The Roman hadn’t noticed her sudden chill. She found her voice. “I want to know of the man who once was. The champion.”

The trader behind her laughed. “If you wish to know of Gannicus, seek out Caellus. The Celt spent more time there than anywhere else.” He saw Sibyl’s confusion. “Caellus owns the best whores in Capua, and wine that is above the usual swill. There is little more a man can ask for.”

And so, when the sun broke she found herself sitting carefully on a straw pallet, cup of wine in hand, talking to a whore.

“He came frequently, when sun was low,” The girl said, brushing a hair out of her face. “He favoured Acacia, but she has gone to grass years before. Her son-“

“Son?” Sibyl didn’t dare to hope. But when the girl turned and called ‘Thesius!’ a boy that looked achingly familiar filed into the room. He was the spitting image of Gannicus; with long blond hair tied back to keep it out of his face, long limbs not yet graceful, and a frown that looked all too familiar. It was a shock to her system, burning through her body like fire.

He scowled up at Sibyl, with the sullen sort of hostility that all young men seemed to have. He could not be more than fourteen. 

“Greetings,” She managed. He looked away. “You… look as if you are the champion come again, Gannicus himself.”

“My father.” He raised his chin ever so slightly, in defiance. “Make point or vanish.”

Did she have a point? This whole journey, filled with danger and uncertainty, did it have a point? Or was it only another useless expression of grief. “I only wish to break words.” 

“Break them somewhere else,” He turned away, disappearing through a doorway into a part of the house where she was not permitted to follow.

It was not the first time she had been turned away, however; she simply waited outside the establishment for him to emerge. After a while she found an open window that permitted her a view. He ran and brought things, set the room to readiness for the night’s work, set out water and wine. He dodged the attentions of his Dominus, the man Caellus, whenever possible. And at dusk, when men began to arrive in earnest, he slipped out the door with water buckets in hand. She followed.

The town was busy, it wasn’t hard to trail the boy through the dusty streets. He stopped below the window of a rundown shack, calling out “Rhea? Rhea?”

“Thee!” The little girl that ran out was dark of hair instead of blonde, but the similarities between the two were unmistakable. Sibyl estimated that she was about seven or eight. Here was Gannicus’ smile, bright as the sun, on her face as she raced about Thesius’ legs.

He smiled fondly at her before turning around and calling over his shoulder “Come and break words. Your shadow darkens doorway.” So he _had_ noticed her.

“I only seek knowledge of Gannicus,” She stepped out, returning the girl’s smile with one of her own and noting the possessive way in which Thesius stepped in front of her. “He was-“ She briefly debated how much to tell the pair – “He was known to me, before his death. I seek knowledge of the man before rebellion.”

“Before they killed him as they would a slave, you mean.” He spat on the ground. “He had nothing to do with us, if he knew we existed. I never laid eyes on him but from a distance. Seek his shade wherever he went once he won his freedom, but not here.”

Rhea tugged on his hand. “He liked my mother.”

“He favoured Marcia, not your mother,” He didn’t jerk his hand out of her grasp though. “And be glad of it. She was crucified for speaking of rebellion.”

They said nothing, for a moment. Sibyl took in all of the information, wondering if Gannicus had known of the children he had sired. Surely not. “He was a good man,” She had to say. “A good man the gods had forsaken.”

“The gods forsake us all” Thesius looked down at his half-sister, then back at Sibyl. “Come along then. Dominus will expect me to return with water.” She and little Rhea walked with him to get it, the girl chattering excitedly about her day. They bid her goodbye on the way back, walking the rest of the way in silence.

“She has a sweetness to rival Venus,” Sibyl offered as they neared the whorehouse, trying to get him to open up.

“Too sweet for the streets of Capua,” But his faint, fond smile told a different story. He cared for her as much as any trueborn brother.

“Perhaps she should be free of the city then.”

“And perhaps the sun should shine in the night,” He sighed, kicked aside the baskets that over spilled from a market stall. The markets were closing. “Perhaps the gods themselves should descend from the heavens to drink and whore with common men.”

She ignored this, pressing on. “Are there many of his seed that live in the city?” How many of his children were out in the world? 

“In the city, yes. There were none in the house of Batiatus. I know not of anywhere else.” He stepped through the doorway of the whorehouse, carrying the swaying buckets before him.

“Thesius!” His dominus was on him before she could reply. “You’re late!” A backhanded strike sent the boy reeling and water splashing over the edges of the buckets. He was quick enough, or practiced enough, to put them down before the next strike.

Watching the casual brutality, one that would not have been out of place in her own former dominus’ house, made her sick. _Gannicus died to see me free from such_. A sudden boldness seized through her. “Stop!”

“What’s this?” He turned, hand still coiled and ready.

“Stop,” She stepped in front of him, doing a quick mental calculation. “I would make purchase.”

“Of a whore?” At least he lowered his arm, glaring at Sibyl suspiciously.

“Of the boy,” She was pulling out her purse as she spoke.

He waved her off. “He is to fight in the arena. The blood of a champion flows strong.” 

“Ten denarii,” She held them out, nearly everything she had saved from her time as a travelling healer. “And he doesn’t have to.”

Enough coin made nearly everything easier. “A deal is made.” Thesius was still lying where he had fallen, looking up at them with wide eyes. “You will address this woman as Domina now, boy.”

“Give time, so he may take his things,” She pleaded, eyes flicking over to where he lay.

The man wouldn’t have it. “He goes now. Both of you, unless you find yourself wanted wine or whores. That is what Caellus trades in. Not slave boys who don’t know their hands from their mouths. Go.”

She held out a hand to Thesius. He ignored it, preferring to push himself up on his own. “Domina.” The word dripped with hostility, but she led him out before speaking.

“I purchased your freedom. Stay in Capua if it please you, or… you may travel with me.”

He stopped, looking at her carefully. She saw something that was surely not Gannicus in his eyes. It was too careful, too guarded. “There is nothing in Capua for me.”

“Then I shall be glad of your company.” She smiled brightly in the deepening twilight, bright enough for both of them. “The roads get evermore dangerous.”

 

Thesius insisted on saying goodbye to Rhea, and Sibyl did not intend to deny him that small goodbye.

“I will come and find you when I’m older,” She promised, swinging from his neck like the wild monkeys brought into Rome from far off lands.

“And I will wait every day for sudden arrival.”

While he kissed her on the nose, Sibyl made a brief inquiry into the state of the girl’s ownership. She was surprised to learn that Rhea was free, the daughter of a woman enamoured with the idea of bedding a former gladiator. While the family was just scraping by in Capua, she was happy and she was loved.

"She is well cared for,” Thesius spoke to himself as much as Sibyl, lifting her pack onto his back to begin their journey. “In which direction do we set our feet?”

Here on the edge of the city, she paused to consider it. Capua had offered her a new companion, but no relief from her quest. 

“North,” She told the boy. “Gannicus lived in the north, after being freed from the house of Batiatus.”

And so they went. Every night Thesius helped her set up a small camp just off the road. He was completely unfamiliar with life outside the city and jumped at every small noise in the night, but he did his share of work without complaint.

He left her to pray in peace each morning and night, though he seemed to keep no gods for himself. They didn’t really speak, other than what was necessary for travelers. He didn’t ask about Gannicus. She didn’t push him; when he was ready, he would talk

The dust was settling into a beautiful sunset one night when he spoke. “You came looking for us. My dominus, he said you were looking for men who had knowledge of Gannicus.”

“I seek what little memory remains of the man,” Sibyl replied softly. A pause, and an admission. “The man I once loved.” _And still do_.

“You would find truth enough in Capua,” He poked at their small, smoldering fire with a branch. “A creature of base pleasures, no more. Battle, drink, and lust always upon mind.”

Everything he said was true. Gannicus had warned her once, to stay away from men of his kind. Yet she had loved him for it: for being strong where she was weak, a well of bitter wisdom and ferocious energy. “He was a soul weighted by the darkness of the world.” She looked into the sunset, blinking back tears. _The dust, it is just the dust._ She would not grieve now. In the morning Gannicus would still be gone, and there was work to finish.

Thesius was still poking at the fire, his scowl unmoved. “He was a man who did not see beyond end of sword.”

“You speak as if you knew the man.” Yet he had told her before that he had not known Gannicus at all.

“Knowledge gained in his absence. He did not care for us, never troubled himself to find what had become of the women he paid for.”

 _He did not know of your existence._ She remembered the day they had hidden in the ruins of Sinuessa, how he had stood between her and death itself. She had been nothing but a fellow rebel to him then, not even a friend, and he had taken her under his protection. If he had known there were children of his blood in the world, he would have torn the city of Capua apart to free them.

She told Thesius as much, but he just shook his head. The fading sun was turning his hair to gold as it set, as she had seen it do to Gannicus’ time and time again. Just as they retired for the night she heard him say quietly “I saw him fight, the day the rebel Spartacus brought down the arena. Jupiter himself could not have bested him. I- I had planned to exchange words, after the battle, yet the arena fell from heavens instead. It was as if the gods themselves saw fit to keep us separated.”

They arrived at the northern ports as autumn fell across the land. The towns there were always busy, and they could slip unnoticed through the crowds. Sibyl showed Thesius how to cover the tell-tale marks of slavery, and how to conceal a weapon as Gannicus had taught her. 

_If only you were here to show him yourself. If only you were here to see him, already so strong and brave._

She could feel him, though, in the cities they visited. There were men who wore tattoos like his, and she learned that it meant _Victory_. Most of the people avoided the odd little pair, though they usually offered smiles when she told them she could heal minor injuries.

Finally they found a city where Gannicus was known.

“I knew the man, as well as any did.” It was a woman who spoke, her fair face long since weathered from days spent working in the sun. “He favoured my husband’s wine above all other in the city, and spent many an hour there in days before rebellion darkened horizon.”

“Drunken fool,” Thesius muttered. 

Sibyl ignored him. “We seek to separate legend from reality.”

“He was a man dark of thought and without purpose,” She shrugged, leading them back to her husband’s alehouse. “On many a night I saw him drink until dawn broke on horizon.”

The woman’s husband had little more to offer about Gannicus. It was all stories Sibyl had heard before, of Gannicus’ humours, his fondness for wine and women, his lack of care or purpose.

 _They claim to know the man, yet none have seen his heart. They have seen only the briefest surface of his glory._ She returned to the room they were staying in despondent.

“Why do you persist in this?” Thesius demanded that night as she finished her prayers. He did not seem to hold any gods himself, but she would often find him watching her as she honoured hers. “Why tread on haunted path, wandering without a home? Why seek the spirit of a dead man?”

“Because I am not presented with choice,” She answered.

He hesitated only a moment before daring to say. “You loved the man.”

Sibyl ignored the challenge. “Beyond any other. His hands saw me free, and saved my life many times beyond,” Had given her everything, life and hope and purpose and joy. “In the end, he gave his life to save us all.”

“I fear I cannot reconcile imagines of such a man with truth.”

He tried to turn away but she reached out to him, holding on like a lifeline.

“He did not know of you,” She told him firmly. “If he had known… he would have treasured you above all else,” _His child. The only part of him left in the world now._

“As you say,” He didn't argue, so she pressed another point.

“Why do you stay with me? Your company is well received, yet- there are many places a man wishes to go, many things he might wish to set as his task.”

“Few open to the sons of whores and traitors.”

“You are a free man now.” Sibyl reminded. “Free to take up any task that pleases.”

“It pleases me to stay with you,” He shook his head, blonde hair catching the fading light. “My father was a warrior, but I would not pick up the sword." She had noticed that, his aversion to fighting. Had thought it only one more rebellion against his absent father. "Perhaps… your hands are capable of healing all manner of wounds. I would like to see mine do the same.”

His hesitation was endearing. “Your desire is my will. Tomorrow you will learn.”

He was a good student. Quiet and thoughtful, he mimicked her actions until his fingers could tie a bandage as skillfully as she ever did. At every town he asked about the local herbs and remedies, and brought home samples for her to examine. A year passed, almost without realizing. Then two. They become comfortable with each other’s company, even close friends.

Thesius was not his father, that much was clear. He was far more serious for one, despite his youth. Rarely did Sibyl see wine pass his lips, and he preferred working to women. Yet there were still similarities sharp enough to steal her breath. Every time he laughed, head thrown back towards the sky as Gannicus often did; the gentleness he showed around those less fortunate. Even when he disappeared into dark humours, all sharp comments and despondency, he was Gannicus.

In a way it was torture. To have an image of her lover so close, yet the man himself gone forever. She prayed for guidance each night, idol clutched in her hand as she cried out to the gods.

They found themselves going farther into Gaullia, thick trees and small villages around. Sibyl had abandoned hope of Gannicus, searching again for only the peace that yet eluded her.

One night Thesius shook her awake in the middle of a dream. “Sibyl? Sibyl!”

“Yes?” She opened her eyes only reluctantly. “Has Nuceria's child come early?”

“You broke words in your sleep,” He frowned, concerned. “Thrashing and calling like Pluto hunted in your mind.”

“You mistake contents of dream,” She closed her eyes, trying to feel the fading sensation of snow on her body and Gannicus in her arms. The dream had been so sharp, so real, for a moment she’d thought herself back amid the rebel encampment. _Dead, they are all dead now._

Tears pricked her eyes. Thesius wrapped an arm around her quickly, but it did not stop the flood of reawakened grief. “I dream of a day long past. A future I’ve long said goodbye to.” But she hadn’t, not really. She had chased it halfway across the world, looking to hold on to the remains of a shattered dream. "Forgive me. I feel as if I'm still yet a foolish girl."

"You are strong." Thesius said, his words ringing with truth. No one had ever called her strong. _Weak Sibyl. Pretty Sibyl. Kind and pure and simple._ But no. He called her _strong_.

"You saved me," He told her. "Gave wind to my heels and saw me far from the place I was forced to call home. Offered me life itself as if it was nothing at all."

"It was a thing anyone would do."

"No." He stood. "It is not. Pray to your gods and ask them to deliver you from sadness, but each man must look to themselves."

He had grown so much from the hostile boy she'd met in Capua two short years ago. And not only in height. There was a confidence now, a sureness. He had grown into a worthy man.

Like his father.

_I pray that you accept my offering, and watch over the spirit of the warrior Gannicus. I pray that you grant guidance to Thesius, and watch over any of Gannicus' children yet in this world. I pray sick and infirm may find solace and comfort, and those who are enslaved may be free._

But she no longer prayed for herself. She threw herself into work, into the ongoing battle against all kinds of ailments and injuries. Thesius worked beside her, and by night they would break words long into the night.

She pushed through the exhaustion. She no longer dreamed of snow.

It didn't mean she didn't remember. But she returned to thoughts of Gannicus only when she was strong, when the time was right and she could pull herself away from memory. And in every broken bone healed, every child delivered, she felt stronger.

One day they came to a village that held more than suffering to ease. It held girls with bright eyes and flashing smiles, something that Thesius was increasingly aware of. While Sibyl agreed to stay long enough to see a woman through a difficult pregnancy, Thesius disappeared with the woman's eldest daughter. Sibyl brushed it off as the captivation of youth. She had been that young once, and followed a golden god to the end of the world.

"I find myself unable to continue journey." Thesius blurted one night by their fire. Sibyl mearly hummed, stirring the stew and waiting for him to continue. "Requirements of the heart dictate - dictate that I stay."

"You feel the pull of love." She said softly. "And I would not stand before such a force."

He glanced over. "And I would not stand as my father did, and abandon those I call family."

"I am not abandoned," Sibyl protested lightly. "The heart overflows with joy to know you've found your place."

"And you yet search." He sighed, settling in even closer to her. "Is there ever an end to it?"

"I do not know." Something she had always wondered. It had been many years since spartacus' rebellion. Sibyl hardly recognised herself in the memories, only a shadow of a girl hiding from pain and loneliness. War and loss had aged her, but in it she had found strength. _You would be proud, my love, of the both of us._ She gave Thesius the best answer she knew. "My place is under the stars, in every place a voice cries out for aid."

"Like sullen capua slave boys?"

"Like men with strong hearts who will make the world right."

The sky was very bright that night, the sunset glorious. And it began to dip below the horizon Thesius said "Speak to me of my father, Sibyl. Speak of Gannicus." She closed her eyes, fixing Gannicus' image in her mind, and began.

"I know not where he came from. He was Celtic, and knew of their traditions. When he was your age he was sold to the house of batiatus..." 

On and on she spoke, telling him the sordid tale of rebellion and loss. How Gannicus had given up his sword for her, and only taken it up to defend to the death those who could not fight. "He no god, merely a man. He was all the things they claim. But he was a good man, Thesius, one who's fortune the gods had forgotten. He laid down his life to see others free."

And as they watched the stars together, one last time, Sibyl said a quiet prayer of thanks to the gods.


End file.
